mosaic broken hearts
by symphonies of you
Summary: "He was the reckless sort, the sort who lived on the brutal edge and played with forest fires. And I told myself that I'd never fall for him because he was nothing but heartbreak and sleepless nights." - JAMES/LILY, in a modern-day muggle!au. rated T for slight swearing.


**FOR: **the quidditch league forum competition - round seven: _find a pairing close to your Keeper's heart...then tear it to shreds. _(prompts: clouds, mysteriously silent.)

**THANKS TO: **jane (enjolras-lesamis) and izzie (amaranthined) for beta-ing.

**WORDS: **2,996.

* * *

**X**

_so you were never a saint, and I loved in shades of wrong_

**X**

James Potter was a paradox spinning out of control, a maddening mixture of fire and ice, passionate and vulnerable and detached. Yes, he was one of those boys who unwittingly broke hearts on a daily basis and seemed like a dream, unreal and untouchable.

He was the reckless sort, the sort who lived on the brutal edge and played with forest fires. And I told myself that I'd never fall for him because he was nothing but heartbreak and sleepless nights.

Maybe it happened because I found myself hopelessly entangled in a cliché and I thought I'd be the girl to change him, to change his devil-may-care ways.

And I think I did in the end.

**X **

I knew him from school. He talked back to teachers and did nothing but excel in their classes in that paradoxical way of his; he stayed aloof and distant and only bothered to communicate with his lab partners: Sirius, Remus, and Peter. He only ever smirked or smiled a bitter, sometimes cruel, smile with no colour in the hazel of his eyes, and I had often wondered if he had ever grinned genuinely with a hint of mirth in the slight quirk of the smile I've imagined him with. And I reckon that it probably was a tad strange that I wondered about him so often like one wonders about the stars in the sky even though we'd never exchanged a word.

But that's the thing about people – we tend to wonder about and crave the indefinite impossibilities and anomalies of this world and universe that are beyond our shaking fingertips.

So, naturally, I was shocked when he offered me a ride on his motorbike, a ride that countless girls have shamelessly fantasized about. I was walking along a back road after being abandoned by my temperamental older sister, who kicked me out of her car after she threw one of her tantrums and broke my eardrums, when he found me.

He did the head nod that guys are wont to do these days. "Need a ride, Evans?"

Those were the first words he'd ever said to me. And I was surprised that he even knew my name.

Or, rather, my surname.

(How would a ride with the devil turn out?)

"Don't take this personally, but I don't trust guys with motorbikes."

(I'm such a coward.)

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He was about to kick-start his motorbike into motion when I changed my mind. "Ah, screw it. I'd better not regret this, Potter."

He smirked. "Knew you'd change your mind."

I scowled, seating myself behind him and crossing my arms.

"You'd better hold on tight if you don't want to fall off, Evans," he chuckled, earning another scowl from me.

I gingerly wrapped my arms around his waist, holding back a gasp as he immediately stiffened due to the undeniable tingles marking the places our bodies met and fit together. And we both knew that there was something crackling between us, that we both felt something strange and perplexing and had an inkling of what it could be.

"S-Shut up and drive, Potter," I muttered.

"As you wish, milady," he smirked (again), kick-starting the motorbike into motion and following with ease the directions I gave him to my plain, white one-storey house.

As I hopped off his motorbike, I found myself horrifyingly reluctant to separate my body from his, unlocking an empty sort of wrongness and desire that I couldn't fathom.

(_God_, I was behaving like one of those lovesick girls who constantly fawned over him.)

"See you around, Evans," he softly enunciated before speeding away.

And that was the beginning of the end.

**X**

After that day, I couldn't stop looking at him. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't.

There was something about him, a magnetic force field around him that never failed to draw me in like a moth to a ball of light. I found myself involuntarily seeking his slouched form in class, tracing the slope of his shoulders and the set of his jaw and the tan of his forearms.

And sometimes, he looked back.

(With the tiniest of smiles.)

**X **

I was sitting alone at an empty booth at Dirk's with a half-empty cup of tea and _Lolita _for company when he sauntered in. He wore a black leather jacket, dark shades, and a smirk, and he looked like the devil himself. I averted my eyes before he could see me because as much as I wanted to be near him, to talk to him, to look at him, I hated the attention and rumours that I would get from associating with the devil.

_Please don't look at me, please don't look at me, please don't look at m—_

"Humbert's crazed obsession with his nymphets was the most morbid thing I have ever had the misfortune to read."

(Well. So much for that.)

"Damn, I never pegged you as a literary type. I'm impressed, Potter."

He smiled. An actual smile. The first one I've ever seen. And it gave me horrid, horrid, _horrid _(beautiful) butterflies, the kind of butterflies that fly into every love story ever written.

"No one knows but you. And I'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind," he winked.

(Oh god, he winked at me. What am I supposed to do now?)

"Of course. But I happen to disagree with your commentary because the memory of his childhood love was forever ingrained in the back of his mind, so it was more _tragic _than morbid," I objected.

"Your opinion, not mine. So, do you mind if I join you?" he replied.

I looked around the diner and sure enough, there were people (staring) who quickly averted their eyes as if they weren't already obvious enough with their wide eyes and gaping mouths.

(Hopefully, they won't be able to start any rumours if they don't know my name.)

I allowed myself a dramatic sigh. "Alright, if you insist."

And that was the first in a series of moments in which I fell.

_Hard_.

**X**

My parents were fighting again, and I had to get out of the house.

When I reached the park across from my school, I immediately headed towards the lake and saw that someone was already there by the lake, having a smoke with his back to my favourite tree.

"Potter?"

He looked up at me and smirked. "Fancy seeing you here, Evans."

"You're in my spot," I grumbled.

"Are you kidding me? This is a _public _place for everyone to enjoy and have fun and do random shit, if you haven't noticed. Besides, I always come here and this has been _my_ spot for years," he retorted.

(I've never heard him so adamant or say so much in one breath.)

I spluttered. "It's been my spot for years, too! How have I not ran into you here before?"

"Well, there's a first for everything," he smirks, putting his cigarette out and scooting over to make room for me.

I rolled my eyes as I sat down in the grass next to him, our hands almost touching. We were quiet for a while, caught in the whirlwind of our thoughts, and watched the clouds take baby steps across the sky.

He spoke first. "What are you thinking?"

(I guess I was shocked at what I said next because it was something that I hadn't even told Marlene, my best friend, yet.)

"Everything's falling apart: my sister likes to pretend that we're not related, my best friend and I are drifting apart, and I'm freaking scared that my parents are going to get a divorce," I confessed, my voice shaking.

"My mother died giving birth to me, and my dad's an alcoholic who's still so in love with his dead wife that doesn't even realise that his only fucking son is still alive. And when he's miraculously conscious enough to consider the fact that I'm alive, he blames me for her death and kicks me out of the house. Your life isn't falling apart, not compared to mine," he muttered monotonously.

"_God_, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologise. Don't be one of those people who apologises for things that they didn't even do, Evans. It's annoying and pointless," he snapped.

I looked at him, I _really _looked at him for the first time. I saw brokenness and defeat in his eyes but resilience and perseverance in his scowl, and my hand found its way onto his. His eyes widened with surprise and bewilderment as he stared at my hand covering his and I nearly pulled my hand away, but a tiny, sad smile tugged at his lips and it was enough for us to stay that way.

Brokenness and comfort are measured in infinities, and we sat there for God-knows-how-many-infinities – just two broken people with only each other for comfort.

**X**

Running into him everywhere I went seemed like a coincidence at first, but then I realised that there are no coincidences between two souls that were meant to find each other.

I never really believed in fate. But I believe that there are points in time that are fixed and absolute, and certain things have to happen or else history will rewrite itself into wrongs and lies.

And I believe that every time I ran into him was a fixed point in the endless stream of time and he was destined to be a part of my life until my last breath and maybe even beyond that.

**X**

The frequency of our meetings fell into a fixed, unwavering rhythm of him smoking and me trying to convince him to stop, and it became a sort of ritual, a part of our routine to meet each other by the lake every Saturday afternoon simply because it just felt _right _to be with each other. I can't explain it – there was just something inexplicably correct and true in being near him and listening to his deep voice and laughing with him at nothing in particular and confessing little secrets and bad habits.

We broke down each other's walls and breathed for the first time.

I remember a particular philosophical discussion that we had early March when the birds were starting to sing again and the wind whistled its cheerful tune in between the pattern of shape-shifting clouds overhead.

"James?"

"Yes, love?"

(Oh, did I forget to mention that we're on semi-first-name basis now?)

"Do you…do you think that there are alternate universes out there with different versions of us?"

He bit his lip, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "If there are, I hope those versions of me don't have to deal with a smoking habit."

I couldn't help but laugh at his response. "And I hope those versions of me…don't have horrible taste in friends."

I had hoped to make him laugh but only earned a pensive look on his face instead. "Do you think _those_ versions of us would be friends?" he asked with a curious glint in his eye.

"Maybe. Universes are so damn big and it's pretty much impossible for one person to meet another specific person in the short amount of time we're given in life, but maybe," I mused.

We looked each other for what felt like eternities, and I wondered what it'd be like to kiss him.

I was the first to look away, hoping in vain that he didn't see the blush that was surely flooding my cheeks. "And do you think that one pair of those versions could fall in love?"

He smiled one of his rare smiles before answering. "Definitely."

(That one word had my head spinning for days.)

**X**

I was getting a calculus textbook from my locker when a boy I knew from my chemistry class nervously approached me.

"Hey, Lily."

I was momentarily startled until the growing weight of the textbook pulled me back into reality. "Oh, hi Amos."

He fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt before asking me a question that I've never been asked in my seventeen years of life. "Lily, would you like to go out to Dirk's with me this Saturday?"

I was about to say yes when a familiar voice suddenly spoke up from behind me. "Fuck off, Diggory. She's going with me."

My jaw dropped as I spun around to face James. "Are you fucking serious? Since when were we _going to Dirk's_?"

But as I turned back around to give Amos a proper yes, he brushed it off. "Oh no, that's alright. Maybe next time?"

I sighed. "Sure, I'd love that."

As soon as Amos was out of my line of sight, I began to yell at James. "_God_, you stupid jerk. Did you _really _have to ruin everything?"

His face was stony. "I was looking out for you."

To my horror, there were tears beginning to gather in my eyes. I guess I was more affected by the whole being-asked-out-on-a-date thing than I thought. "Dammit, I've never been asked out on a date, James! Since you apparently know so damn little about girls, I'll have you know that _girls like being asked out on dates_. And before you ask why, it's because it makes us feel like we're actually _not worthless_!"

His eyes widened and his eyes softened, which was the last straw because I hated pity more than anything else. I stalked away with the purpose of getting to my calculus class before the bell rang when he grabbed my arm and spun me around.

His voice shook a bit as he stuttered, "Fuck, I'm sorry, I swear I am. I didn't realise…l-let me actually take you to Dirk's on Saturday."

I bit my lip in silence before consenting with the most dramatic of sighs. "Alright, but you'd better make it worth my while."

His grin was infectious. "I will, love."

**X**

It was my first, best, and last date.

He had picked me up on his motorbike, and it was the best ride of my life. The diner wasn't terribly crowded when we got there, and we ordered our usual orders – a burger, fries, and tall root-beer for him and a diagonally-cut cold sandwich and cup of tea for me.

He had me laughing and snorting quite unattractively, but hey, he kept his promise – he made it worth my while and my heart was unashamedly aflutter at his deliberate attempts at making it seem like an actual date.

(Yes, I was hopelessly flattered and pathetically hopeful.)

When he gave me a ride back home, I felt the same undeniable tingles that I felt so many months before, and I relaxed into my hold around his waist.

He felt like home and a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day.

When we arrived in front of my house, he walked me to my front porch. We stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to say.

"Thanks for tonight, for everything," I murmured.

It was like he didn't hear me because he was still staring at me, mysteriously silent. I trembled when he slowly reached his hand towards me and wrapped a strand of my red hair around his pointer finger.

"I've always liked your hair," he whispered.

(How was I supposed to respond to that?)

And suddenly, like a temperamental summer storm, he kissed me, and I melted into his arms. It was a magical sort of kiss: I wove my hands through his messy black hair as his lips gently caressed mine, and our bodies were pressed against each other like two pages of a book that hasn't been opened in ages.

He suddenly broke away, breathing heavily and staring at me with wide eyes. "I…I have to go."

That was the moment I knew that I loved him.

**X**

All of a sudden, like the cliffhanger of a temperamental summer storm, he started ignoring me and stopped going to our tree by the lake.

And it felt like the sun had stopped shining, the pain never-ending like the darkest night.

**X**

He wasn't in class, and I knew where he was.

When I arrived, I could tell that he knew I'd be coming and was already waiting for me.

He spoke with a resolve that compelled me to listen. "Hear me out, love. These past two months were nothing short of torture because staying away from you has got to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I've hurt everyone who has ever been in my life – my mother, my father, and a girl I thought I loved two years ago – indirectly and directly. And I'll be damned if I end up hurting you, too. Please, we can't see each other anymore. Caring about you has been the easiest yet most frustrating thing I've ever done, and I can't hurt you."

"No, dammit, James. _Please_ don't give up. We'll make it through to the other end of the tunnel, I swear we will," I insisted, tears running down my face because it wasn't exactly a love confession professed from the mountaintops but it was the best that I'd ever get from the boy with a broken soul.

He enveloped me in the warmest, tightest hug I've ever received, and I never wanted to let go.

But he let go and looked at my face one last time before walking away with the pieces of my heart in his hands.

**X**

He died the next day when he swerved his motorbike into a ditch.

I've had many regrets in my life, but the thing that I regret the most is the fact that I never told him that I loved him, too.

(And he took the pieces of my heart with him to the grave.)

**X**

'_cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

**X**


End file.
